


A Trust of the Sun

by ilostmyshoe



Series: A Good Man is Hard to Be (aka Sam Wilson is a National Treasure) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Canon Compliant, Canon Levels of Implied Sam/Steve, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 12:05:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4262634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilostmyshoe/pseuds/ilostmyshoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Romanoff’s final report to former Director Fury <i>vis-a-vis</i> her observations of Senior Airman Wilson, his interactions with Captain Rogers, and her resulting conclusions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Trust of the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> Epic thanks to [stars_inthe_sky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stars_inthe_sky/pseuds/stars_inthe_sky) for going above and beyond standard beta duties to help this fic see the light of day.
> 
> This has been a long time coming, but was originally inspired by [this tumblr post](http://angstyteenagesam.tumblr.com/post/108973868618/heycomicgirl-joycesully-i-want-more-of-sam).

**First contact with Samuel Wilson occurred at 0640 hours, adjacent to the United States Capitol building. Wilson was engaged in conversation with Rogers, and both displayed evidence of recent, strenuous physical activity. The two appeared friendly.**

Finding Rogers with another person was unusual, to say the least. That was the main reason Fury had partnered Natasha with him in the first place—not that Fury had ever said so explicitly. But after the third time he assigned the two of them to the same mission, Natasha had stayed behind while the rest of the S.T.R.I.K.E. team departed.

Folding her arms over her chest, she had asked, “So, what? Are you playing matchmaker now?”

“I’m concerned the Captain is having some trouble…adjusting.”

“Really? Looks to me like he’s doing just fine.”

Fury had regarded her coolly. “Then you aren’t looking hard enough.”

Natasha had raised an unimpressed eyebrow, but she also started watching Rogers more closely, and it didn’t take long to figure out what Fury meant. While Rogers was adjusting to 21st-century technology and pop culture with relative ease, interpersonal relationships seemed to be more of a stumbling block. He wasn’t anti-social—Natasha had seen him smile and chat politely with everyone from little old ladies and grocery clerks to S.H.I.E.L.D. agents and politicians—but those conversations never went beyond superficial niceties. And, whether or not he realized it, Natasha could tell from his forced smile and weary eyes that the lack of more meaningful relationships was wearing on him.

So when she arrived to pick Rogers up and saw him chatting with a stranger, Natasha noticed immediately that Rogers’s posture was unusually relaxed, his smile bright and genuine. The brilliance of the other man’s matching grin clinched it: this had the potential to be something significant.

**Upon inquiry, Rogers provided Wilson’s name and occupation—veteran, currently employed at the V.A.—but withheld all other details.**

Rogers, frustratingly enough, was far from forthcoming no matter how carefully Natasha approached him.

As they drove away, Natasha downplayed her curiosity with a casual, “So, who was that?”

“Sam Wilson. Veteran. Works at the V.A.”

She nodded and waited for him to say more. He didn’t. “New running partner?”

“Something like that.” Rogers turned away to look out the window.

Out of the corner of her eye, Natasha saw the side of his mouth twitch up in a quiet echo of his earlier grin. She nodded slightly and said, “Okay then.”

She’d learned the hard way that Rogers was highly sensitive to any inquiry about his personal life. Shortly after her conversation with Fury, she’d asked Rogers about his friends and family before the war. She’d intentionally chosen a positive topic and kept her questions light and open-ended, hoping to find a subject that made him want to open up. His answers had progressed from concise to terse to silent glares before she gave up on that line of questioning. Afterwards, he hadn’t spoken to her for over a week. Natasha had been vaguely pleased by how little the silence impeded their tactical efficiency, but she still had no desire to repeat the experience.

The confrontation on the Lemurian Star left it painfully clear that Rogers did not trust Natasha at all, and it surprised Natasha how much that bothered her. She had worked functionally alongside dozens of agents, and almost all of those partnerships had included a healthy dose of distrust on both sides; it was practically a requirement in her profession. With Rogers, though, that distrust felt uncomfortable, even problematic. It nagged constantly at the back of her mind. She teased at the sensation, trying to analyze what some part of her understood instinctively.

It was different because Rogers didn’t trust anyone else, either, but he clearly wasn’t the type of person who could live that way for long. Helping him open up was supposed to be part of Natasha’s unofficial mission, and at the moment she was failing. Badly.

Rogers simply refused to talk about anyone he had been close to in the past. Natasha knew from her research that Rogers had been incredibly close with Peggy Carter and the Howling Commandos, sharing bonds of deep loyalty and unconditional trust. Their loss must have been devastating, but, without the historical records, Natasha would have barely known that they ever existed from talking to him.

In all honesty, she couldn’t imagine connecting with people like that and then losing them. She’d had friends, allies, and lovers, but she’d never had that totally open relationship with anyone. As far as she could tell, in the wake of those losses and Coulson’s death, Rogers had kept his emotions closely guarded from everyone—except Wilson. What made him different? Why now?

Investigating Wilson could be risky; Natasha knew Rogers was already far from happy with her, and if he found out that she was looking into his friend, he would almost certainly consider it an outrageous breach of privacy. There was a significant chance that it would damage their already tenuous working relationship beyond repair. On the other hand, Wilson was her first lead in months, and she couldn’t afford to ignore that.

**Further investigation into Wilson’s background revealed little of note.**

Breaking into the V.A. was soothing in its simplicity—familiar steps, basic safety measures—a dance Natasha had practiced since she was very small. Wilson’s office was noteworthy only for its overwhelming normalcy—neat, organized, and very basic. The only decorations were some group photos, a couple of awards, an orange stress ball, and a miniature basketball hoop on the back of the door.

A quick skim through Wilson’s email revealed intense dedication to his work: Natasha found messages sent at all hours of the day and night. Some were from clients asking for help and resources—Natasha suspected that an inspection of the man’s phone records would reveal an even higher number of calls and texts. Other emails were from Wilson to his coworkers and supervisors. Wilson’s language was consistently, carefully civil, but Natasha was able to detect an underlying frustration with bureaucratic issues ranging from poor communication and response times on patient services to a growing shortage of funds for essential services, exacerbated by poor planning and rush fees paid for last-minute purchases.

Something about one of the recent emails nagged at Natasha, so she went back to look at it more carefully. One of Wilson’s coworkers was asking about a visitor that had come looking for him that afternoon. A tall, blond, well-built visitor. Wilson’s response downplayed the visit as just another veteran asking about services, but Natasha had no doubt: Rogers had been there. In the middle of whatever new, moral crisis had been caused by their latest mission, Rogers had sought out Sam Wilson. Had he come for advice? Reassurance? Emotional support? Something else?

Natasha planted a small video camera in a corner where it would give her a clear view of most of the room. She promised herself that she would only leave it for a couple of days—a week at most— just long enough to really get a feel for Wilson as a person, and maybe, by extension, gain some insight into Steve as well.

When she reviewed the footage the following evening, Wilson turned out to be both more and less complicated than Natasha had guessed. Everything she saw supported her preliminary conclusions: Wilson didn’t seem to be working for S.H.I.E.L.D., the C.I.A., or any other covert organization. While she couldn’t be completely certain—she knew from experience how convincing the best operatives could be when deep undercover—all of Natasha’s observations supported the idea that Wilson was exactly what he appeared to be: an elite soldier turned support counselor.

Emotionally, however, he was just as difficult to get a read on as Rogers. Natasha imagined Wilson’s calm, intensely sincere, nonjudgmental presence must be an essential tool for working with troubled clients, but his demeanor seemed to be more ingrained than that. She watched Wilson use the exact same mannerisms with his coworkers and managers. His frustration was clear from his emails, from the slight, fidgety movements of his fingers, and from his facial expressions and body posture after the conversations finished. Yet she couldn’t see a hint of it in his face or tone while other people were in the room. She knew well how much practice it took to build up that level of skill at concealing emotion, and Wilson appeared to have developed it without any formal training in espionage.

After careful consideration, Natasha concluded that the behavior was most likely linked to Wilson’s race. Growing up, she had been thoroughly instructed about Western beliefs and assumptions, including stereotypes pertaining to race and gender. While Wilson’s genial manner and careful emotional control probably reflected his natural predisposition to a certain extent, they had almost certainly become exaggerated to prevent others from perceiving him as the stereotypical “angry black man.” Natasha had seen Fury intentionally play into that stereotype in order to heighten people’s discomfort or encourage them to underestimate him. She was less certain that Wilson’s actions were deliberate, but the influence was almost certainly there.

Wilson’s behavior also had significant overlap with the persona that Rogers put on when he was interacting with the public as Captain America. Perhaps that explained part of the apparent bond between the two men.

**After the incidents at the Triskelion, Pentagon City Mall, and Camp Lehigh, Rogers suggested Wilson’s home as a safe haven.**

Between Fury’s apparent death, frantically trying to evade capture, and the revelation that S.H.I.E.L.D. was rotten from the inside out, Natasha had practically forgotten about Wilson until Rogers suggested that they go to his home to lay low and plan their next move.

Her first impulse was to question the choice. Surely Clint or Stark would make more sense—with the inevitable downside of Stark’s obnoxiousness balanced out by the promise of Pepper’s invaluable assistance. Neither man could possibly be Hydra. She knew Clint too well to think he would be capable of working for Nazis, and Stark had too little self-control and too much hatred of authority figures to be a spy for a secret, fascist organization. At the very least, she had a handful of personal safe-houses set up that no one in or out of S.H.I.E.L.D. would know about.

Instead, Natasha stayed silent. She wasn’t sure where she stood with Rogers. Fighting for their lives had felt like a bonding experience, and he had been more forthcoming with her on the drive to Camp Lehigh than he had been in the past. On the other hand, Zola’s revelation at the camp had proven that Rogers’s distrust of S.H.I.E.L.D. was completely justified. Rogers knew how deeply connected she was to the organization. He had saved her life during and after the airstrike, but how could he possibly trust her now? She couldn’t even trust herself.

At least she knew from her own investigation that Wilson was almost certainly a safe option. She felt nearly as confident as Rogers seemed to be that Wilson wouldn’t betray them—to S.H.I.E.L.D. _or_ Hydra—so even if he wouldn’t have been her first choice, agreeing with Rogers’s suggestion felt like the right play. Her nod and neutral “Sounds good” was rewarded with a smile as Rogers drove them back towards D.C.

Natasha turned to look out the window and toyed with the possibility of thinking of the man beside her as Steve.

**Wilson provided shelter and offered his assistance without hesitation or reservation.**

Natasha insisted on a brief perimeter check to ensure that Wilson’s home was as safe as the man himself. Steve agreed with minimal argument, though he drew the line at entering the house without permission. By the time Wilson returned from his morning run, Natasha felt as confident as she could that neither S.H.I.E.L.D. nor Hydra was monitoring the building.

When Wilson answered the door, Steve’s earnest gaze and “We need a place to lie low,” might have been all the information he needed, but Natasha felt the need to add, “Everyone we know is trying to kill us,” by way of explanation.

The look Wilson gave her when he responded, “Not everyone,” and the way he checked behind them as though their enemies might be just out of sight made her wonder if he had his own history with betrayal—or sneak attacks.

Natasha was forced to reframe her understanding of Wilson when he unexpectedly volunteered his unconditional help, casually referencing his role in the Khalid Khandil mission in the process. Suddenly Wilson wasn’t just relevant because of his budding relationship with Steve; he had the potential to be a valuable ally in his own right.

**He provided Rogers with understated but effective emotional support and understanding before the confrontation with Hydra.**

Natasha watched Steve stand alone on the top of the dam. She felt deeply shaken by the reveal of Fury’s survival and all of the lies surrounding it. She also knew that, for Steve, the revelation of the Winter Soldier’s identity had had a similar effect, but multiplied a hundredfold. She could see he needed some sort of supportive push, but even if she had known exactly what to say, her own wounds were too raw, too exposed for her to meet him with the kind of honesty that he needed.

Natasha let out a soft sigh of relief when she saw Wilson approach Steve. The angle at which they were standing made it almost impossible to read their lips, so she didn’t try. She just watched their body language.

Steve’s tension didn’t ease at all with Wilson’s approach. He didn’t even turn to face the other man directly. The instinctive, vibrant connection between them seemed fractured. Wilson spoke intently. He left space between himself and Steve and kept his arms loose and his posture non-confrontational, but he refused to be ignored.

After their brief conversation, Steve seemed more focused and decisive, as though he had regained his bearings and finally knew just where he wanted to go. Everyone else was ready to follow him there—with both Wilson and Natasha at the front of the line.

**In battle he was enthusiastic, creative, courageous, and effective.**

During the battle, Natasha kept careful tabs on Wilson over the comms. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him to get the job done—between his “resume” and their previous confrontation with the Winter Soldier, he had already proven himself more than capable—but he was still an unknown variable compared with the rest of their makeshift S.H.I.E.L.D. team.

At first, Natasha detected a layer of uncertainty under Wilson’s bravado, which reassured her: Wilson was out of his element, the odds were epically stacked against them, and overconfidence on missions like this often turned fatal. Besides, someone needed to balance out Steve’s near-suicidal recklessness.

Once Wilson took to the air, however, his dry snark changed to whoops of joy—joy in flying, joy in fighting a good fight, and joy in being able to tell Rumlow to “shut the hell up.” It made sense. He had no personal connections to S.H.I.E.L.D., no reason to feel personally betrayed by Hydra’s existence. A neo-Nazi organization must make for a refreshingly unambiguous and concrete opponent for a veteran of Afghanistan, especially after his more recent enemies: PTSD, bureaucracy, and institutionalized racism.

Even he clambered into the helicopter, yelling with Fury about floor numbers, Natasha could tell that Wilson was hooked. Whether he knew it yet or not, he wouldn’t be going back to his normal life at the V.A. anytime soon.

**Therefore, in this operative’s considered opinion, Wilson would be an ideal partner for Captain Rogers in the pursuit and apprehension of the individual formerly known as James Buchanan Barnes, a.k.a. the Winter Soldier. Samuel Wilson has, without question, proven himself to be a man worthy of trust in every sense of the word.**

Natasha snorted and shook her head at her own self-indulgence. Writing up mission reports was an old habit—begun long before she joined S.H.I.E.L.D.—but it was a foolish waste of her time and resources when there was no one to read them.

She crumpled the neatly written summary into a loose ball with one hand, held it by a corner, and flicked on a lighter. She held the paper to the flames until the fire brushed her fingertips and then dropped the smoldering remnants into a small metal trash bin.

S.H.I.E.L.D. was gone. Fury was gone. Natasha was on her own, left to draw her own conclusions and choose her own course of action. She thought of Sam and Steve and the folder that she had given them, the dossier on the man with the metal arm who meant more to her than either of them knew. She felt confident that she had made the right choice and took a moment to savor the heady freedom of not needing anyone’s approval but her own.


End file.
